


Sea-monster!

by Sharpiefan



Category: Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2003)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's one thing to hear ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night... but at <i>sea</i>?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea-monster!

It had been a pretty good afternoon, all things considered. He couldn't remember who'd been the first person to spot the sea-monster, but Major Howard, being Major Howard, had immediately organised a shooting party. He liked burning powder, did the Major, and Thompson wasn't the only member of _Surprise_ 's detachment who liked the chance to fire his musket at more than just an empty bottle. Even if it took ages cleaning it afterwards in order to pass Sergeant Patterson's critical eye.

There had been two of the creatures, in fact, big grey things moving fast in the water. Major Howard had fired at the larger but it had jinked out of the way and he'd winged the other, the smaller one, a glancing shot to the flipper. It hadn't seemed badly hurt, but that was the only time any of them had come close.

It had been a good afternoon, though. Thompson had managed to misjudge it once when tearing open a cartridge, and had ended up with powder in his mouth – only a little, but it tasted _foul_ and he'd not been able to rid himself of the taste before Up Spirits because the fresh water was being rationed.

It was later on in the afternoon watch before they were able to discuss that afternoon's bit of fun. They were up on the foc'sle, cleaning their muskets, and generally taking their ease while doing so. 

“What was them things, though?” Robinson wanted to know, dipping his cloth into the tin of brickdust he was sharing with Combes.

“Damned if I know, Birdy,” Thompson replied, poking at the lock of his musket with his needle-sharp pick to try to dislodge some burnt-on powder residue. “Fast though, whatever they was.”

“Careful there – don't go makin' a mess all over the Captain's nice clean deck. You'll only have to clean it up.” Corporal Shaw's voice made the Marines bend over their work again with renewed effort. There was no slacking off with the Corporal around.

“Was too small for a whale, I reckon,” Pollitt opined, over supper that evening. 

There was a chorus of jeers, from the others at his table, and those tables nearby. 

“How'd you know, that then – you ain't ever seen a whale!” Kershaw wanted to know, twisting round so he could see his fellow Marine.

“Mebbe I ain't, but there was a cove in my last detachment what'd bin in a whaler 'fore takin' the Shillin, an' _'e_ said whales was big as a fifth-rate, easy. So there,” Pollitt replied with a shrug, tapping his hard-tack on the table.

“An' o' course your mate 'as seen every whale what swims, ain't 'e?” Combes said, and received an elbow in the side from Robinson.

Pollitt broke his hard-tack and leaned back, sucking on a bit. “I reckon 'e knew a thing or two about 'em, aye.”

Thompson himself couldn't have said what it was, apart from that it wasn't a dolphin – it was too big for one of those, and they always went places in regular groups – and did tricks and all sorts, beside – he'd seen that, across the Atlantic when he was in _Calypso_.

What the creatures actually _were_ , though, was anyone's guess. The Marines were still arguing good-naturedly about it when hammocks were piped down.

Thompson wasn't sure what woke him. He lay awake in his hammock for a moment, trying to work out what was wrong. There were no shouts indicating fire or any other imminent danger. The ship was still pitching and rolling under him – or at least, he could feel his hammock swaying in the usual way indicating that the ship was still moving. 

It was only a few moments that he lay there trying to think – the space between one heartbeat and the next – when he heard it again. He was out of his hammock in a flash, heart racing. What the devil was it?

It came again, a low, long, sad sort of moan. 

Marine or not, Thompson wasn't staying belowdecks with _that_ going on – if there was going to be any trouble, he was going to be up on deck. It was much the safest sort of place to be, all things considered.

He wasn't the only one who'd had that idea – there was a press of seamen and Marines up on the gundeck, all looking fearfully up through the aft hatchway as though staring at the sky, or the pale loom of the spanker, would make the horrible sound stop.

Somehow, Thompson found himself on deck with the others, looking around at the dark water surrounding the ship.

Was it a ghost? Something else? He shivered and wished he had his musket to hand – even without being able to shoot at whatever it was making those awful moans, he'd have the comfort of the iron ramrod to ward it off if it really _was_ a ghost.

He glanced at Oxley, who was chewing his lip and looked scared stiff.

“What the devil is that abominable noise?” The Captain's voice carried in the quiet as he arrived on deck, his uniform coat thrown on over his nightshirt. Mister Pullings was on watch, but Mister Mowett was on the quarterdeck too, his white shirt seeming to gleam in the starlight.

“Doctor, what do you make of it?”

“I have no idea. The mother of the creature Mister Howard shot, perhaps?” 

Thompson couldn't help looking round for his officer, and took a step closer to him. Nobody was going to blame Major Howard for this... this unearthly wailing. Not on _his_ watch. He gave Combes an uncertain look, though. What if the Doctor was right?

“Mister Hollar, fire off some flares.” The Captain sounded his usual self, anyway, which reassured Thompson a bit.

It could not have been that long afterwards, although it seemed like forever, before a couple of flares were fired off, giving a ghostly white light to _Surprise_ and her surroundings.

“Sergeant!” The Captain's voice made Thompson jump guiltily, even though he wasn't the one being addressed. “What the devil are you thinking?! Turn the glass and strike the bell!”

Thompson turned to look aft, to where Sergeant Patterson was standing on sentry, unusually for him. He shrank back a little to let the NCO pass on his way for'ard to the belfry, a wary, reluctant look plain on his face. The bell sounded two, slightly feeble, double strikes and Sergeant Patterson made his way aft again, looking relieved.

“If you're not on duty, get below!”

The force in Captain Aubrey's voice made Thompson gulp and head down the nearest companionway. It was only once he was back on the gundeck that he realised he'd gone on deck barefoot, something he never did.

The eerie moans and wails were still going on outside as he got back into his hammock, and he couldn't help shivering. He sat up a little as Corporal Shaw passed, to pause by the hanging lantern which had been dark ever since Lights-Out. There was a comforting orange glow, and Thompson frowned. “Corporal?” The Captain's standing orders were that no lantern was to be left unattended, ever – and that included on the messdeck after Lights-Out.

“Don't worry, captain said we could have 'em lit tonight. Go to sleep.”

Thompson shivered again, but kept his eyes on the comforting glow, though he couldn't see how anyone could possibly get to sleep with all the devils of Hell moaning somewhere out in the dark.

That was the last thing he was conscious of before the bosun's cry of “Out or down!” was taken up by Corporal Shaw, and a new day had begun, blessedly silent of any howls or moans other than from those men on the receiving end of the bosun's starter.


End file.
